Post by Deleted on Dec 4, 2013 5:37:51 GMT
camilla kate holt ,
full name: camilla kate holt.
nicknames: kate.
age: 23.
birthday: august 3rd.
education: high school.
occupation: au paire.
marital status: single.
current city: new york city, new york.
hometown: london, england.
parents:
- devon holt.
- flora (blythe) holt.
siblings:
- clea holt.
- kieran holt.
other:
DECEMBER 23, 2012.
I'm nervous, my dress is too tight. It restricts my breathing, or atleast, I think it does. The beading and lace make me itch, especially my bridal lingerie which is somewhere beneath it all. My father has to hold my hand because I'm shaking so bad. He's whispering to me, telling me how beautiful I am, how much he loves his little girl. He knocks my chin affectionately with the thrumb of his knuckles, as if to say 'here's looking at you, kid'. He keeps telling me everything will be fine. I can't exactly pin point to you what I'm feeling. Instead, there's just something deep inside that isn't sitting right. Jake had promised to call me that morning, and he didn't. It's not unusual, not to see the bride before the wedding, and I would have preferred that tradition if he had called. I'm stuck at the back of the church, waiting for them to call me.
I guess I should have realized that they were never going to call me. I don't think there was an exact moment that I knew he wasn't coming. I think it was always there, in the back of my mind, that he would never change. He had tried, I am certain of that, but that never made it okay. That never made it enough. I won't say I hadn't been warned, because I had been warned every day leading up to that. We had grown up together, I had seen what he had been like. Chalk it up to the cliche that I loved him enough to want him to change, and I suppose for a while he loved me enough to want it to. But, at the end of the day, when the snow fell outside the church in London, marking our Christmas wedding, Jake Mann did not show. I wish so much that my father had been right. But it really, really wasn't okay.
SEPTEMBER 1, 2013.
7:30: arrive @ rothschild's.
7:45: prepare breakfast (oatmeal & fruit).
8:15: wake sylvia & marloes.
8:45: feed the girls.
9:00: dress sylvia, give marloes first bottle.
9:30: change marloes while sylvia practices revisions.
10:15: begin sylvia's studies
11:00: marloes' first nap.
12:00: prepare lunch (salmon & swiss chard).
12:30: wake marloes, second bottle.
12:45: sylvia's piano lesson
2:00: take girls to the park
3:15: marloes third bottle
3:45: sylvia's ballet lesson
5:00: prepare dinner (lobster bisque & baguette).
5:15: mrs. rothschild returns home.
HISTORY
It's been the six of us for as long as I can remember, and it's not as if Atlas isn't as important, she just came a bit later. But legitimately, our mums had a vague sort of Travelling Pants bond, their pregnant lady spin class leaving them obnoxious and craving for human interaction with people other than their potential nannies and husbands or significant others. Cillian's mum, she of course was always the odd one. I don't think our mums knew for a long time what she actually did for work. However, when they found out, they didn't really love her any less. It sort of makes sense, in her case. There they were, though, all together through their numerous pregnancies. My mom started early and finished late, as her most recent children were only born ten years ago, long after everyone else's parents stopped having babies and started raising the children they had instead. We played together as toddlers, getting sand in each other's diapers and bullying one another into submission. The roles we all had changed every day, but I suppose if we were to watch our young selves then, our current roles would be there and obvious, just a tad under developed.
Jake had been the player from the beginning. His mum was the first to let him sleep over anywhere, so naturally he abused it at the age of thirteen and would spend nights away from home, stealing into backyards of the girls he fancied and throwing rocks at their windows. We all enabled him in our young teens, mostly because he had yet to turn our sights on any of us. Even at that age, he had lots of 'girlfriends' though I don't think he did anything significant with any of them until we were at least fifteen. However, there was a time I thought I knew him better than I actually did, so it is natural that I could be wrong about that too. He was always about the opposite sex, and I remember the day vividly when he asked me to do his calculus homework because he had two dates in one night and just simply didn't have the time to do it. That made logical sense, in his mind, and because he was my best friend, I rolled my eyes and did it. I didn't love him then, not really. That part would come after a lot more suffering and a considerable amount of time later. He was always running and from what, I don't really know.
Orla is my best friend, naturally. She would certainly be the beauty of the group, all legs and hips with a face to launch a thousand ships. We have a bond that the rest of us don't share simply because of gender and because Raya doesn't put up with our bullshit. We have the same taste in everything, as best friends should, but it gets us into trouble even more than I think is healthy and normal. She eats my left overs and I have half her closet in mine that I haven't even bothered to return because she's eaten her fill of my Pad Thai and leaves most of her shit at my parents house in London anyway. I can't pin point a time that I've ever been angry with her, though I'm only slightly aware of the fact that she probably hates me for agreeing to marry Jake. The problem with our group of friends has always been Jake, especially since he turned his sights inwards. There's some saying here that's relevant about not shitting where you eat, but that's vulgar and I try my best to stay away from such things. Anyway, we've all dated him, and as you can be sure, there must be bitterness lurking in the corners somewhere. The only reason I can't feel that way for Orla is by pure happenstance of the fact that she came first and I came last.
Then there's Alexi, the quiet one. He and Jake are tied at the hip the exact same way Orla and I were. Where as Cillian and Jake are consistently getting into trouble, Alexi always seems to slip away at the very last moment and save himself from any harm. He's like a cat, but with an infinite number of lives. He and I have something unspoken, something that makes him comforting without having to say anything at all. I can't count the number of times we've fallen asleep together, legs tangled in front of the blue-white filament of the movies we've never finished. I loved him in a way I love my brother, and it's only recently that I've begun to see him in a different light. We've never kissed, never touched in a way that was wrong, but he knows when I'm hurting, and I with him, and there never seems to be any better comfort than our silent solo time, stuffing guacamole in our faces and thinking about how we hate Jake 99% of the time. I am fond of Alexi, in a different way than the rest. I loved Jake, often wanted to fuck Cillian, but with Alexi, I am purely content on living along side of him in comfortable silence, knowing full well that I'd never have to try to be someone that I am not.
And of course, Raya. Logical, fucking Raya. Please excuse my language. She hates us most of the time, but loves us all of the time. She's the one that leaves sleepovers when the movie gets too sappy and the conversation too girly. I think she would prefer to hang out with the boys, rather than with me and Orla, but we're okay with that, not because we don't want her there, but because we know they'll eventually piss her off more and she'll come back to us. She's consistent, always there, like a rock. She barricades the people we don't like from ever coming in, and she was the first to tell me that she told me so when Jake left me at the alter. I do remember punching her in the face later that night, but I think she understands why and I don't think she holds it against me. I love Raya because she keeps me in my place with my head out of the clouds, because it often likes to go there. She yells at me when I've taken too many selfies in a row, or when my duck face is particularly prominent that day. She protects me when she can, and relishes in the fact when she's right and I'm not. I don't mind this about her, though. There has to be someone to keep us on track. I love her like I love Orla, she is without a doubt, one third of me.
That leaves Cillian and Atlas. He's been the trouble maker from the start, always spearheading the ridiculous adventures and nonsense that the boys like to occupy their time with. I suppose that makes sense, given his stint as a writer for South Park, and if you know Cillian like I do, you'd know that is so him in so many ways that it hurts. Often times, we sit back, shaking our heads at whatever cock and bull idea that he's cooked up. I won't lie to you and say that I'm not attracted to him, I have been since day one, and although we had always planned on acting on it, the time was never right. We've never spent much time alone, but then again, none of us have. We travel in a group of six, or three, never more, and only sometimes less. Mind you, I forgot about whatever superficial attraction I had for him the second that Jake asked me out, and he was long gone from my mind like that when Jake asked me to marry him. I was always rooting for him and Atlas, though now it hasn't worked out with either of our respective partners, I can't help but wonder if we'll ever get drunk enough or bored enough to try it for ourselves. Regardless, of whatever it is, I'm certain it will change nothing. We are nothing if not steadfast.
I suppose there is me, if we want to get technical. The role that I play is something between comforter and group mother. I romanticize everything, almost a sexual Luna Lovegood. I do my best to be polite, poised, but Jake and Orla and Cillian often bring out the worst in me. Thankfully, I have Alexi and Raya to keep me grounded to my natural tendencies. I aim to be proper. I iron my jeans and fold hospital corners into the beds I make. I am obsessed with the finer details in life, as my life has and always will be one of lists. If only you could have seen me, in wedding planning mode, certainly a bridezilla of all things. Now, with the kids, I'm the same way, planning out every second of our time together because it makes me feel secure. When I was with Jake, there was no lists. We went on vacations without telling anyone, spent undocumented hours together, laying in bed and sucking brownie batter from each others finger tips. He is unorganized, chaotic, and I absolutely hate that about him. Yet, I can't help but be completely aware that I will never love anyone as much as I loved him, and I am terribly bitter that he left me high and dry for a girl that the rest of us know literally nothing about.
I guess I could move onto the true events of our lives, which feel ridiculous and a bit like I'm making it all up. We were the people you see in teen shows, that frequent the same places at the same time everyday and are considered 'regulars'. Come to think of it, it wasn't until our early twenties that the thought occurred to us to begin dating inside of our little friend group, bar Jake of course. He'd been trying from the very beginning to get a piece of something and anything. It's hard to talk about the events of my life without talking about them, even though there are somethings that happened that were limited to my experience and my experience only. High school seems insignificant, aside from a few little instances. There was the time that I secretly dated the student teacher assigned to my American Lit class, and of course, Raya was furious with me and I'm sure would have told the school board had Orla not convinced her that I was just going through a phase (because I was) and that I would dump him after graduation when he wasn't a novelty anymore (which I did). I had sex with him graduation night, in the hotel we all booked together to drink and dabble in whatever drugs we could get our hands on at the time. I tend to stay away from the later, now. He was gone a week later and never spoken of again, except for Cillian, who loved to remind me that I'm not always perfect, even if I try my best to seem that way. I think he likes it when I abandon all things prim and proper.
We were just twenty when Orla and Jake started dating. It lasted only six months and it was a disaster from beginning to end. I should have hated him more on her behalf, and I should have shown that, certainly. It wasn't as if I wasn't angry, because I was. She is my best friend from start to finish, but then again, so is he. I could be angry at him for ruining the dynamic of things, but he completely annihilated it when he decided to rope me into his fucked up version of runaway bride. That boy is nothing but trouble, and he will never, ever change. I should have been there for her more when she was hurting, that is my only regret with that whole thing. Orla deserved to be treated better by the both of us, and the more I talk about it, the more I realize I was in the wrong. I was happy for them at first, I was happy for them all the way through. It wasn't as if I wanted him for myself at that point, and it wasn't until Jake had asked me out seriously a good six months later that I ever considered that I might have had feelings for him. But, never the less, he cheated on her, as he tends to do, and Orla is not the type to put up with that. I think we are lucky, our group doesn't have anyone that you can walk all over, Alexi and myself included. We some how manage to keep our pride in all of this.
Fast forward to a year later, and we're all still fucking around. Jake had been serious about asking me out, and he did. It wasn't a grand gesture, which was what he had been used to making. It was simple. He showed up at my house, his shoulders up by his ears because he kept shrugging them in nervousness with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He just stood on my doorstep in London and asked me if I wanted to get dinner. I knew when he asked, because he made it quite clear, that this wasn't us going as friends, that it wasn't just us going alone, that it was a date and he wanted to do it properly. I hadn't been as careful as I should have. I should have chuckled and patted him on the head and sent him away. Instead, I was flattered, took his hand, and let him in, agreeing to go to dinner with him on the pretence that he didn't try to sleep with me the first night. Jake kept that promise to me, at the very least, and he made me feel like I had a vague amount of class because the sex came after a long while. You'd think I've have been okay, giving my body to him because we'd known each other for years and he had seen what I looked like flat chested and without a bra years before, just as I knew what his voice sounded like when ours were the same pitch, but I wasn't. I was a bit skeptical at first, but not skeptical enough, so it would seem. I believed him when he said that he'd changed, that I was different from the rest of the girls he had dated, that I was different from Orla. I suppose I believed him because despite his serial dater status, he really was a good guy, a sweet one even.
We were together a year, and I remember this day perfectly. He had done it perfectly. We had just come back from a weekend away in the country, walking my parent's terriers down the London streets. It was drizzly that day, and he kept me and the dogs close, kissing my hair and my forehead and occasionally my mouth. It was sweet, and a bit silent as we didn't talk much. I knew something was on his mind, but I knew that if I asked he'd never tell me. He let the dogs run a bit forward, as they never strayed too far. He sank down on one knee in front of me, wetting the legs of his trousers and ignoring that slight discomfort in favor for pulling that little velvet box from his pocket. I was so in love with him then, maybe I still am. Regardless, I obviously said yes, and we had our quiet moment there in the middle of the street. When we told our friends, they seemed happy, though Raya of course took me aside later that night at the pub and gave me a stern warning. I should have listened, I should have heeded. Yet, Jake had been good for a year, he hadn't so much as looked at another girl, let alone cheated on me. Perhaps I was too quick to believe that he had changed, but the evidence for it was all there. We'd set the date, planned it all together without the help of a professional, and sent the invitations out. We didn't spend the night before the wedding together, but the night before that we made love into the early hours of morning and he told me he could not wait to make me his bride.
The rest is obvious. I waited two hours at the church, and Alexi came to find me after an hour, sitting with me, holding my hands and saying nothing as he usually does. I think he knew, even if he didn't want to say it out loud. He knew he had to let me make up my own mind about the whole thing. After another another hour of sitting, I stood, kissed him on the cheek, and quietly asked for him to apologize to the guests and send them home. That was in December of last year, and I left the chapel, riding away in the limo that was supposed to be meant for the both of us. I didn't cry until I reached my parent's home in the country, where they came home a few hours later and said nothing. That was the problem about this whole thing. It was just a sad happenstance that nobody said anything about. Except Raya, of course. I punched her in the face for that, something terribly out of character and something that I still feel bad about. But, thankfully, she could never hate me, just as I could never hate her. Orla was supportive, far more supportive than I was over their breakup. We didn't see Jake for nearly eight months after that, or at least, they might have, but I haven't since the day he ran out on me. I found out later, through people who weren't my friends that he got married to the same tramp he met at a bar the night before our wedding. He's been on a honeymoon for nearly three months. Am I bitter? Not at her, no. But I can't forgive him, and I probably never will.
This September, I decided I needed to get out of London. Having always been a lover of children, the au paire position seemed to be perfect for me. The girls are beautiful, divine little creatures, really. I love them as if they are my own, and taking care of them as part of their family has been something I've enjoyed immensely. New York is beautiful, and it's been the much needed escape away from everything that's happened over the past year. I would be lying if I didn't long to be with my friends again. However, the thought of facing Jake after all of this is not one that I can properly stomach, and I'd much rather be on this side of the ocean than ever see him again.
HOLLY, LONDON, ROSIE